It Takes Two
by EtreAlive
Summary: Welcome to another year of Hunger Games - with a twist. In the first ever Quarter Quell, President Thornton has decided to throw a bone to the tributes by allowing two victors to be crowned champion. It's a lucky break for Disctrict Two's Shay Kensington, who learns that her District partner will be her own boyfriend.
1. Chapter 1

Chin up, shoulders back. Don't cry.

"What's your name dear?" asks Gemma Winters, the district escort.

"Shay," I manage to get out. My throat feels tight and I can feel myself shaking; being on this stage in front of my entire district would be nerve-wracking under normal circumstances, but to be here now, volunteering to go into the Hunger Games.. The fear threatens to overwhelm me.

"And your last name, dear?" says Gemma, laughing slightly. I remember what I learned from watching the last 24 Games in training: the Capitol believes us to be stupid, less than human. I can't lose my temper at her, it will do more harm than good. I need to play her game if I want to survive.

"Right, sorry," I smile slightly, feeling my muscles strain immensely with the effort, "Shay Kensington."

"Oh excellent, what a lovely name!" She goes on to talk about how she loves that our names all have something to do with masonry - my name, for example, referring to a type of stone called shale. I keep my breathing as even as possible and though I can still feel myself shaking I am noticeably calmer. It's a game, I tell myself, just a game. Play along.

Gemma is introducing the male tribute now, people are clapping for him, and I look up to see my boyfriend walking toward me. I feel my jaw clench and eyes widen in fear and surprise. I know I shouldn't feel this way, he's the competition after all, but I can't help wishing he'd never been called. The plan was always been for him to volunteer anyway, but maybe once he saw me up here he wouldn't have. Now there's a 100% chance at least one of us will be coming home in a box.

"Mason," I whisper as he takes my hand to shake it. There's a deadened look in his eyes as he stares down into mine and his grip is hard, harder than I'm used to. I bite my lip and squeeze his hand, hoping for some kind of friendly response.

"Well now, it looks like you two know each other already," says Gemma happily, and I realize neither Mason nor I have let go of each other's hand. I look around to our escort, slightly dazed, but my friend beats me to a response.

"Yes, we do," he says, grinning broadly at Gemma. It's a fake smile, but I can tell she buys it. "She's my fiancee."

He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to his side. I'm shocked, but manage to smile a little. Until this point we'd been keeping our relationship a secret, as dating is strictly forbidden between those of us training for the Games, and now not only is he telling all of our district but all of Panem that we're engaged? My head spins in confusion before I realize he's a step ahead of me. Mason is working an angle already, playing their game. Fiancee sounds better than girlfriend, makes for a more tragic love story. He's brilliant, my best friend. Hopefully our escort - and the rest of Panem - think I'm shy or something because I don't say anything at all. I simply rest my head on the side of his chest, the highest bit of him I can reach, and try to listen to what Gemma is saying.

"Oooh, how excellent," she trills in her Capitol accent, clapping her hands together like a child, "and what a year for true love it is, too!" She winks as she pulls out a card from her pocket with a little '25' painted on the front and begins to read. "To remind the citizens of Panem that the Capitol is merciful, in this year's Hunger Games, the first Quarter Quell, there may be two Victors crowned in the arena!"

My stomach turns over and I sink further into Mason. There is a chance, however small, that he and I could both live. From the corner of my eye I see him turn his head to look down at me and he smiles. The crowd of people in the square below us cheers wildly, ecstatic at this turn of good fortune. We do not need the rewards that come with victory, we merely want our people to come home again. I feel my nerves relax a little, I won't be killing my best friend after all. In fact, we can use this to our advantage. Mason and I have been trained for years, both of us specializing in different areas meant to compliment each other. The hope was that one day if we were to end up in the arena we could help each other until the point we were forced to separate. Teamwork is essential in masonry, it is an aspect of our lives that we can't escape no matter where we go in District Two. I pride myself on being able to work well with others, and especially well with Mason. We've been best friends since we were toddlers, nobody knows us better than we know each other. A spark of hope flickers in my stomach; maybe we can win this thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting in the Justice building half an hour later, I am informed that I have a visitor. I have already said goodbye to my mother, father and sister as well as a few friends, I don't know who else to expect but perhaps my trainer. The door opens behind my back and I begin speaking without looking to see who it is.

"I know I wasn't supposed to volunteer until next year, but I couldn't help it. Please don't be angry." I turn around to see not a blonde 20-something but a small 14 year old girl - the one whose place I just took as tribute. "Oh," I say, surprised, "I'm sorry, I thought you were - "

"Mica, I know," says the girl. I know her from training, this girl. She started a few years ago, isn't as prepared as me. That's why I did what I did - she may have three years of excellent training under her belt, but I've been at the academy since it opened seven years ago. I just couldn't let her go into the arena.

"Right," I say awkwardly, not really sure what she wants. I know she only gets two minutes, so the Peacekeepers must not see her message as very important. "So..."

"I just wanted to say thank you," she blurts out quickly, her face reddening slightly. "I mean I know I've been trained well, but I've seen you and I know you're better. I want to go into the arena, but not yet. Not until I'm better. You and Mason can win, I've watched you work together in practice, you never argue. It's like you can read each other's minds. I could never do that with him, we wouldn't win. But you can, I know you two can make it through and come home. I - " the door opens and two Peacekeepers come in, grab her by the arms and begin dragging her out of the room without a word to her. I suppose this means her time is up. "Thank you, Shay" I hear her say as they're dragging her through the door, and then I am alone again, without even having said anything in return to her speech.


	3. Chapter 3

My fingers lace through his and he instinctively pulls away slightly, having spent the last two years keeping our relationship a secret has led us to some habits we will now need to break. I give his hand a sharp squeeze I know he will interpret as me scolding him and he steps a little closer to me, grabbing my fingers tighter and holding on. We smile broadly, having composed ourselves on the drive over to the train station, and wave out at our cheering district. They believe in us, I can see it in their faces. My eyes pick out Mason's father in the crowd and he nods at us approvingly, though I feel like there's a hint of annoyance in his eyes. We broke the rules, they all know that now, and Mason's father is a strict man when it comes to the rules. That's why Mason is so disciplined in training, he's been dealing with rules and instructions since he was old enough to listen.

I blow kisses and wave at my people, actually finding myself smiling for real at their well-wishes. Then we are lead backward into a shiny silver train, the one that will take us to the Capitol. I've heard it's fast, but I didn't realize how fast until we start moving. The green flashes past the windows, making me so dizzy I have to look away and close my eyes until the nausea is gone. Gemma talks for an hour or so about our schedule, the things we should expect to see in the Capitol, the rules about fighting before we get to the arena. I only half listen, more focused on looking at the compartment we're in. It's got beautiful polished wood furniture, tables full of the kinds of food we only eat on special occasions, and servants at either end of the room to open the doors for us. I guess Mason isn't listening very well either because Gemma gives up after a bit and leaves us alone, telling us to wander where we please until we arrive in the Capitol.

For a while we entertain ourselves by sampling all the foods, both of us particularly enjoying the small chocolates filled with strawberry, before we turn to a crystal bottle of what Mason recognizes as some kind of alcohol we often saw his father drinking. Sneaking glances around the room to make sure we aren't going to be scolded by either of the guards, we take turns pulling mouthfuls of the bitter drink. I almost spit mine out, I didn't realize alcohol had such a strong taste, but end up swallowing and coughing for a solid two minutes.

"I thought you had an iron stomach," Mason laughs at me, putting the bottle back on the cart where we found it.

"It's not my stomach that's the problem," I reply, my nose wrinkled in disgust as I search for something to rid my mouth of the horrid taste. He laughs again and suggests we explore the rest of the train, as we only have a few more hours until we arrive at the Capitol. The next car has a large television and some comfortable chairs and couches, the car after contains nothing but a bar fully stocked with more types of alcohol. The next three cars have bedrooms and bathrooms, but we can't get past there - the door leading to the front three cars is locked. We've managed to kill another hour of our time, but we still have a while before we make it to the Capitol. Deciding to go back to the television car, I flip through the channels until I find the one we are both very familiar with. It constantly runs the footage of all the Games ever played, all 24 in random order. We take a while playing "guess what year" before I find myself curled up on the couch next to him, my head on his arm the way we always lay when we sneak off to the old quarry for some relaxation time.

Everything is peaceful, perfectly silent aside from the noise of the train's engine, and then it isn't. Suddenly I can feel someone nearby, closer than I would like, and out of instinct I sit up, my eyes snapping open, and throw out a punch to my right. My knuckles make contact with someone's palm and they grab my fist, twist it sideways easily until I feel myself involuntarily turning my body to prevent the pain from getting to me. I'm about to lash out with a foot when my eyes catch up to the rest of me and I realize it's not a potential attacker holding my hand, but my trainer, who might be worse.

"Mica," I breathe in relief, relaxing my fist. She lets go of my hand and stares down at me with one of her funny half glare, half smiles. Mica was in the 20th Games, the winner by default when her last remaining opponent went insane from lack of water and killed herself, but everyone knew she would have won anyway. She had seemed sweet at the beginning of the Games, unwilling to kill, but by the end of two weeks the then-16 year old was as ruthless as any of the others. Even now, Mica had her moments in training when I feared for her sanity and my safety. She pushed until there was no more I could do, and then kept going. I'd had my life threatened a few times for not properly performing a task. It came and went without warning, but now I expect it. This look in her eye she's giving me now is familiar, an onset of what my mother - a healer - calls a mild psychotic outbreak. It's almost as if she flashes back to the Games, thinks we're all out to get her. Mica tips her head to the side, still giving me that funny look of hers, and I know what she's about to do before she does it.

Rolling off the couch onto the floor, I see Mica's hand lash out and a flash of silver. Her knife stabs into the couch and fluffy white cotton flies out, landing on Mason's unconscious body. I yell his name as my foot kicks out at Mica's knees, knocking her sideways away from him. I jump to my feet as he sits up, eyes wide with confusion. I don't have time to explain as Mica is back, alternating between slashing with her knife and fist, both aimed at my face. I take a defensive stance, not wanting to hurt my trainer and mentor for the Games. I'm able to parry most of her throws until I stumble over the turned up edge of a rug and Mica makes slight contact with my cheekbone. It sends me even more off balance and she takes the opportunity to aim her knife at my stomach, something I have no hope of dodging. Then Mason is there, his foot slamming into Mica's side, throwing her off her feet onto her back. He lunges for her to pin her down and wrest her of the knife, but she's too quick for him. Rolling out from under him a second before it's too late, she takes shelter behind another couch.

Both Mason and I recognize this tactic and take shelter ourselves - Mica only takes cover when she has something to throw. She can't stand the thought of just giving up. Sure enough, a second later we feel something solid hit the couch. I duck lower and pull back, just in case the blade manages to slice through the fabric of the couch. Mason and I stare at each other, and I can tell he's as nervous about this as I am. We've seen Mica have these episodes countless times before, but other trainers have always dealt with it themselves. We watched, took mental notes, but never once did we have to fight a ruthless, bloodthirsty Mica by ourselves.

"Can you tell how many she has?" I whisper to him, trying to use the reflections in the train's windows as a mirror. He shakes his head, copying me. I pause for a moment before leaning around the side of the couch, only to pull back immediately. One of Mica's knives slices into the tip of my nose as I pull back and I let out a gasp of pain. Mason leans forward, concerned, but I'm angry now. "Damnit Mica," I yell, "we're on a train, not in the desert! This isn't the Games!" Silence for a breath and I think maybe she's coming back to reality, but then a knife thuds into the wood wall over my head and sticks there, perfectly level. Mason reaches out from behind our couch to grab it and hands it to me; between the two of us, I'm the better shot with knives. He taps me on the shoulder and points across the room where I can just see a boot lying on the floor. Of course, I should have wondered about the guards earlier; they're supposed to be at every door, but this room is currently lacking in them. Mason has just discovered why. "Mica are they dead?" I yell, my eyes still stuck on the motionless boot.

"Better they die than I" she yells back, her signature saying around the district. Mason and I look at each other with worried expressions; we've heard Mica killed Capitol workers before but didn't know how she escaped punishment for it. Perhaps because she's so well-loved by all the Capitol, even the President himself. Hopefully it saves her this time as well.

"We need to get rid of all her knifes," Mason says and I nod in agreement. He wipes his thumb over my nose and it comes off bloody, but not horribly so. The sight spurs my conviction and I nod at him, then stand up before he has time to protest.

"Mica, I'm up here," I taunt, then fall to the ground in pushup position as a flash of silver comes my way. Mason looks at me like I'm crazy but stands up before I can get back on my knees.

"Hey, Mica," he says, then drops too. He grins a little at me, like it's another training exercise, just a game. We go back and forth like this a couple time before my ears pick up on her whispered swears.

"She's out" I mouth to Mason, who nods. Leaping from behind the couch we see Mica huddled over something but don't have time to look. As I dive in to tackle her she looks up, that sick smile twisting up her pretty face, and throws some kind of liquid right into my eyes. I let out a small scream of pain and recoil, curled on the floor pawing uselessly at my face. I hear sounds of a struggle next to me and a few blows land on my legs. I do my best to retreat from the dueling pair but the most I can make out is a couple of blurred shapes. The noises stop but I continue to cower in the corner of the train, my eyes streaming with tears, both from the pain and my body's natural defense against the foreign substance. A hand touches my shoulder and I jump, too busy concentrating on the burning pain I hadn't heard or sensed anyone approaching. Whoever it is guides me into a standing position and I can tell from the roughness of the hands that it's Mason walking me to the other side of the car, sitting me down on a couch, handing me a cool glass. I smell the contents and decide it must be water, so I begin pouring it gently into my eyes, one at a time. It instantly reduces the pain, not a lot but enough that I feel myself relaxing a little. I finish off the glass and then another before I feel like I can open my eyes again. When I do everything is hazy, but I can identify almost every object I look at.

"What was that?" I ask weakly, not looking at Mason sitting beside me.

"Lemon juice, I think," he says, wiping a finger across my cheek and smelling it. He holds it in front of my nose and for the first time I smell the tartness.

"Just my luck," I mumble bitterly, "volunteer for the Games, then nearly get blinded before I even get to the Capitol."

Mason laughs quietly at me before going on. "Mica's unconscious." I say nothing, not particularly worried about her at this moment. "Did you learn pressure points before we left? My trainer taught me, I didn't think they'd be that useful but obviously I was wrong." I shush him loudly; we've been warned for years not to mention we were trained. The Capitol would think we were preparing for a rebellion or some nonsense like that, it's not safe to talk about what we've learned outside of the training center, even though everyone knows it's there. "Oh come on, there's no one in here," Mason continues. I can tell he's rolling his eyes, but he doesn't say anything more.

A few minutes later the door opens and a little scream comes out of what I can tell is Gemma's mouth even without looking. She begins yelling at us, calling us monsters for murdering the guards, brings backup to pin our arms behind our backs, then spots Mica's unconscious body on the floor and my bleeding nose and sighs. She dismisses the guards holding us, instead instructing them to take Mica to a bedroom and lock her in, making sure to have two extra men at her door. Mason and I sit on a couch saying nothing while Gemma proceeds to inform us what a menace Mica can be sometimes when she has her "little temper tantrums."

"I really don't know why President Thornton even allows her into the Capitol," she huffs as a group of avoxes cleans the mess we made and moves the bodies of the two guards. "I mean really, these are the fourth and fifth guards she's killed, not to mention the avox from the training center during the last Games. It's a matter of simple security, she should _not_ be permitted inside the walls of the Capitol city of Panem, I mean I don't know about anyone else but I for one will not rest safe if I'm anywhere near that woman." Gemma continues her ranting for some time before noticing my streaming eyes and telling me she has an easy solution for it. I can't help being annoyed she didn't tell me sooner, but I smile and thank her politely anyway before allowing myself to be escorted to one of the other bedrooms, where a healer soon arrives with droplets for my eyes and a cream for my nose. Within the hour I can see again, though I'm told my long-distance vision will be slightly impaired for a while, and my nose looks like I merely have a bad paper cut.

The sun is just beginning to sink below the mountains when the train reaches a lake. Mason and I stand at the window, staring out in awe at the Capitol in the distance. It's similar to our own city back home in District Two, but there are definitely more buildings. They're the same type of tall, concrete structures though, so I don't feel too nervous. Really, the Capitol doesn't seem that much different than home.. Once we've passed through a dark tunnel leading us through the mountains themselves and into the city, I see how wrong I was to think that. Excited Capitolites line the train track, screaming wildly, each of them wearing an outfit that looks like District One threw up on them. They wave at Mason and I, blow kisses at us, clap above their heads. I can't help smiling and waving back, and I even bring myself to blow them a few kisses myself. They will not forget me, I won't allow it. Mason seems to have taken a different strategy, as I always knew he would. His dark hair and green eyes give him the look of someone who could become the heartthrob of all the Capitol women, were it not for the fact that he had just declared our engagement this morning. Now they know he's taken, he needs a new angle, and I think he's found it. He's a whole head taller than me, and quite obviously solid muscle. He stands at the window with me, arm around my shoulders, but he does not wave. He stands perfectly still as he stares out over the crowd, scowling like he has a personal problem with all of them. If I didn't know him better, I would be afraid. But I ignore him for the most part, simply smile and wave at everyone, hope I seem like the kind of girl they would want to win the Hunger Games.


	4. Chapter 4

My head hits the hard blue mat with a painful crash that causes little black spots to pop up in my vision. I swear under my breath, which comes in sharp gasps.

"You can do better than that, come on," urges my Capitol-provided sparring partner from above me, his hand outstretched to help me back to my feet. I grab it gratefully and haul myself up, but bend over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. We've been at this for half an hour without one break, which is a stretch even for me. Mason an dI planned our strategy last night and I passed it with Mica this morning, as did Mason with his trainer Beryl. As long as he keeps up his stone-cold attitude I can pretend to be weaker than I really am. Nobody will mess with me out of fear of him, I'll be able to conserve much of my strength until we really need it.

"My life better not come down to hand-to-hand combat," I joke with my partner. "I'll be dead before I get three hits in." He cracks a small smile and ruffles his hair a bit while sending a nervous glance in Mason's direction. True to the plan, Mason has been playing up the jealous fiance bit, and I can tell even my sparring partner is a little afraid to seem too pleased with me.

"Come on," he says, "let's go again, just once more and then you can take a water break."

My head still throbs from its impact with the mat - which for all its worth might as well have been hard packed dirt - but I raise my fists defensively anyway. We being circling each other, every foot placement careful and deliberate, sizing each other up before I move forward in a flash and send a fist flying toward his side. He dodges so I barely skim his loose shirt and in return sends out a foot to sweep me off my feet. I crash to the ground again but this time catch myself before my head hits. Lashing out with my feet I slam them into his knees and watch his face contort in pain. While he is momentarily distracted I take the opportunity to clamber back to my feet, just in time to parry a fresh blow from his fist and send my own sailing into his exposed stomach. It hits its mark and he doubles over involuntarily, allowing me to bring my knee up to connect with his jaw. Blood spatters the floor, probably from a bitten tongue, and I step back feeling victorious.

Slow clapping from behind me makes me turn out of curiosity. The District One girl stands there with her hip cocked smugly, staring at me with a mean look in her eye. For the last ten or so years the District One tributes have teamed up with the tributes from District Two to take out as much of the competition as possible, but not this year. With the announcement of the Quarter Quell theme came a divide between our normally friendly districts, each one wishing for both of their tributes to be the ones to come home alive. I understand. I still would have preferred to fake a friendship with the pale girl standing before me, but I understand. District loyalty before all else.

"I didn't think you were ever going to beat him," she says, folding her arms across her chest in a superior manner. I smile in my head; he's trying to intimidate me while she sizes me up. It's cute, really.

"Yeah, well, we can't all have biceps the size of logs," I reply with a sarcastic smile. From her meticulously styled ponytail and makeup I can tell District One prides herself on looking perfect, and this slight to her appearance makes her scowl a little. She's careful to wipe her face blank quickly though, and she turns to stalk off with her nose in the air.

Holding back a smile as best I can, I return to my partner and apologize for the bloody tongue. He shrugs it off with a small smile and pats me on the back in congratulations before heading off to seek medical attention.

"Nice work," says Mason's voice in my ear and I look over to see him standing beside me, sipping on a cup of water. When he hands it to me and kisses my head I can't help but smile, knowing that his praise is directed less at my victory and more at my performance of being weak, but at least it's sincere.


	5. Chapter 5

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Shay Kensington of District Two! Next up let's hear from her dark and dashing companion - and fiance? - Mason Amato!" The high voice of Augustus Cornelian rings out over the crowd, who all jump to their feet the way they did when I came out five minutes ago. I pass Mason on my way off the stage and brush his hand with my own, giving him a hint of a smile for confidence. He's not exactly shy, but having your face broadcast to the entire country would nerve-wracking for even the most confident of performers. I take my seat again, the one with 'District Two' emblazoned on it in swirling black letters, and try to ignore the whispers and not so subtle glances from the District One tributes beside me. It's not hard, as I'm curious about Mason's interview.

When I went up on stage, Augustus asked about how I liked the capitol, to which I managed to fill a full minute and a half with gushing about all its wonders and beauty. He asked how fair I thought my training score was, and I replied that I was gloriously happy with my eight as I had been so nervous I shook during my one-on-one time with the evaluators. Then he asked if Mason and I had a strategy for the game, assuming correctly that "the love birds" would be teaming up in an attempt to bring home a double victory for District Two. I smiled sweetly and blushed at his title for us, but made sure not to give anything away.

"Oh," I had said, "we've discussed a few different strategies." This wasn't a lie, we had talked over playing up the power couple as well as pretending love was our Achilles heel, but eventually decided that staying on the middle ground was probably out best bet. "In the end though we just decided to give it our best and try to remember all those great things we learned in training over the last few days. Those trainers really know what they're doing!" Sweet, gushing girl from District Two, that's what they want. It's a game after all, I just have to play along.

Mason is asked much of the same things I was, though he doesn't gush. I'm playing the likability card, hoping the Capitol citizens might start to see me as a darling they want to see make it out of the arena. Mason, on the other hand, acts as if he could care less what they think. To every he's asked, Augustus is lucky if Mason even opens his mouth. Most of the time he just nods, shakes his head or shrugs, never giving away more information than the mare necessity. He does, however, make it plain that he's protective of me. When Augustus asks how he feels about my volunteering, Mason scowls darkly at both him and the audience.

"It was stupid," he says with a frown on his face, looking Augustus dead in the eyes so intently the interviewer adjusts himself nervously in his seat. "I know she's capable of winning, she's the most stubborn person I know, but she should never have volunteered. She didn't know the theme of the Quell, what if it had been different and we wouldn't both have been able to win? Either she would have to die or I would, and I would never let anything happen to her. She was an idiot."

It's the most he's spoken in public since we arrived in the Capitol, and the silence of the audience is so deafening I swear I could hear a pin drop at the back of the crowd. I'm not used to him discussing his feelings for me so openly outside of just us, it makes me blush. Luckily for me the cameras turn to show my reaction at that exact moment, so I turn my face down as if ashamed. Not to seem too prideful - I'm not the girl from District One - but I think I'm doing a marvelous acting job tonight. I play with the black lace of my dress, still not looking up. When Augustus starts talking again I deem it safe to turn my attention back to the television screen.

"Well, that is a strong opinion indeed, and a lovely sentiment," he says in a low, solemn voice. "Unfortunately that's all the time left we have for you tonight. I wish you best of luck in the arena, Mason from District Two!" His voice rises as he nears the end of the last sentence until he's practically shouting to be heart over the roar of the crowd. Mason did a better job than I thought, the crowd stands as they clap wildly, some of them whistling and shouting his name. Well, if I didn't make an impression, he certainly did.


	6. Chapter 6

"You did great out there," says Mica, patting me on the back with a small smile. I thank her and push the number two button on the elevator to go to our floor, the location of our suite and temporary home. I just want to get out of this dress and take off the layers of makeup I feel caked onto my eyes; my stylist did a fantastic job of darkening them to match my dress and shoes, but it's just not me. The elevator rises one floor and lets us out before moving upward to drop off the District Five tributes and their mentors. I sigh with relief, finally able to unstrap my heels and take them off my feet.

Throwing them to the side of the hallway, I follow Mason toward our rooms. He hasn't said a word to anyone since his interview and I'm afraid of what might come out if I prompt him to open his mouth, so I say nothing to him either. Completely prepared for a night of silence, I open the door to my room when a hand grabs my writs tightly. Acting on instinct, I pull away sharply but the hand doesn't budge. Turning, I see Mason has moved away from his door and is standing mere inches away from me. He hesitates a moment, but when I open my mouth to ask what's wrong I'm stopped. He's shoved me against the door frame and pressed his lips to mine.

Before I know what I'm doing we're inside my room, Mason closing the door behind him, me pulling down my dress, our lips never parting. He pauses when the fabric hits the floor and stares at me, now almost completely naked. While he's seen me train in a bra and shorts before, he's never looked at me quite like this. His eyes are hungry.

For a few breaths we are both still, and just as I start to get uncomfortable he's there again, pressing his body tightly up against mine and kissing me fiercely. He takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt while I work on his belt. They fall to the floor at the same time. My heart races but I can't stop, I need him like I know he needs me. Right now. He slips out of his shoes, socks, pants, and pulls me down onto the bed on top of him. Through the thin fabric of his underwear I can feel him, long and hard and hot, and my stomach jumps. What am I doing? This is insane, it's the night before the Games begin, I might die tomorrow.

I might die tomorrow. Or he might, or we both will. I kiss him harder, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and sliding my legs to either side of him. I need this, and so does he. Our future is so uncertain, if this is to be our last night then there is no other place I'd rather spend it than with him. Really _with_ him. His hands travel roughly across my shoulder blades, my back, all the way down to my thighs and then back up. I want him so badly. Working my free hand beneath his underwear I feel him and he shudders a little underneath me. His nails dig into the skin on my back, but it feels good.

Without warning he flips me onto my back and rolls on top of me, cupping my face with his hands for one more kiss before he pulls away. For a second I think I went too far and my heart drops, but then he grabs my underwear and slides them down my legs until they fall to the floor. He slides his fingers inside me and I gasp with pleasure. He cracks a small smile and moves them around, back and forth and up and down and I don't know what else, until I'm moaning and can't take it any longer.

I grab the waistband of his underwear and yank it down hard. Mason slips out of them and I pull him close to me, grabbing his face with one hand and his member with the other. I kiss him passionately while I guide him inside me, and as he slips in I moan again. I feel him tense up for a half a second before he starts thrusting his pelvis rapidly forward and backward so he slides in and out of me. I moan loudly and he kisses me to keep me quiet, holding himself up with one hand while using the other to massage my breast under my bra.

Faster and faster he goes, while my hands claw his back in a desperate attempt to bring him closer, deeper inside me. The pressure mounts and before I know what's going on I feel a burst of pleasure and I get extremely hot and wet. A few seconds later Mason seizes up and pushes himself inside me as deep as possible, and I can feel his member contracting as he cums inside me. I kiss his lips, his nose, his forehead, and he lets himself relax on top of me, his body pressed up close against my own.

"I love you," he whispers, still panting a little. It's the first time he's said it, but I know what my response is without even thinking about it.

"I love you too," I whisper back even softer, and I really truly mean it. He lifts his head to look me in the eyes and beams tiredly before he puts his head back down next to mine. He's heavy and it's getting hard for me to breathe, so I wiggle a little uncomfortably and he jumps up, pulling me with him. Again Mason smiles at me, softly runs a finger down the side of my arm, then kisses my head before pulling me with him toward the shower to get cleaned up.

We play around under the stream of water for a long time, until we're both pruney from head to toe. I catch him staring at me, mesmerized, multiple times, and each time he laughs and pulls me in for a hug. I feel so safe and warm in his arms, like tomorrow will never come. But of course it has to.

We dress for dinner - Mason dashing across the hall in a towel to grab a shirt and pants - before returning to the sitting room hand in hand. Picking a spot on the couch, I curl up next to Mason and we eat our last real Capitol meal together while watching some more reruns of past Games on the television. Every now and then he turns his head to kiss the top of mine, and I can't help but smile.


End file.
